the_isle | Don't Be Afraid To Be Who You Are

The Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down

Just over a week after the Isle visit people would find themselves drawn outside. The weather was finally getting warmer, but that wasn't all of it. A strange foul smelling - and fairly toxic - mold had begun growing in some of the classrooms. Thankfully not the ones where people were sleeping but it was still enough to make it unpleasant to remain indoors. Some might blame the growth of the mold on a certain obsessive compulsive cleaner, though others might say that he just discovered it and accidentally gave it access to oxygen and such.

Whichever the reason, sleeping outside for a few days was sounding like a better and better plan with every passing minute. Even the drizzling weather couldn't make the indoors terribly appealing for anyone with a sense of smell.

And it was over night on one such night that the rain was... different. Warmer and a bit tingly. And some people would awaken quite a bit older than when they fell asleep, perhaps. Their memories might have caught up with their age, or might come to them slowly. However it happens, there might be some very confusing moments as those who seemed to be young just a moment before are now... less so.

Gift In Time Gift In Time Nary A Reason Nary A Rhyme Gift In Time!

Weirdly, there was something good to come not long after the rain. In addition to aging some folks up, it also seemed to wash away the worst of the mold, allowing people to return indoors once more. And each of them would find, soon after, in some place that they considered theirs... a small gift. It was rare that positive things happened on the Isle, but perhaps this was a sign of things to come.

Or perhaps even a broken clock is right once in a blue moon...

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"Less so the instrument than its former owner," he said, "but as I lost both in the same moment, seeing either again is rendered especially potent." He paused briefly, gently wiped away the teardrops before they had a chance to mar the wood, taking the moment to gather his thoughts and decide how he wished to explain them. Chara didn't need to know all the grim details surrounding the incident, but they did deserve some explanation.

"This lute belonged to my father," he said. "He was a bard, you see, and this lute was his most cherished possession for as long as I can recall. He never gained any great renown outside of our little community and perhaps a few of the surrounding villages and taverns, but none who heard him perform could fail to be moved by it. I spent many a peaceful evening as a child, sitting by the fire, listening to him play and sing, or spinning tales of daring heroes and far off lands. Even after an injury cost him much of the use of his arm, he still kept the instrument in good repair, giving it to a friend to play while he sang; naught could extinguish his love of music or a well told tale."

Edited Date: 2025-04-25 06:29 am (UTC)

"I don't know what a Bard is... but I'll help you protect the lute," Chara said nodding, clearly serious and taking this on as a big deal grown up important task.

Of course Chara is mostly thinking the lute needs to be protected from humans...

"'From humans', you mean?", he said, knowing Chara well. "Thank you, but... no. I'm quite capable of discouraging any who might think to take it, and as for it's music... should I learn to play, my father believed that music was a gift that was meant to be shared as widely as possible. Withholding it from anyone due to a grudge would be a poor way of honoring his memory."

After a moment, he continued, his tone becoming more solemn. "...Several years ago in my world, there was a great Calamity, so great and terrible that it reshaped the continent of my birth forever. Countless people lost their lives, and no group could escape its wrath entirely. Even a small community of Duskwights living well off the more well-trodden paths of the Twelveswood. When I managed to make my way back there, all that remained of the little cottage where I had grown up was a heap of charred rubble. The rest of the little collection of dwellings was much the same. Nothing... and no one... could have survived."

"So seeing my father's cherished instrument after all that, intact and unmarred... tis a bittersweet gift, but more than I could ever have hoped for. I merely hope that it is a gift that I can somewhat do justice to."

"But... if it matters that much to you... why do you want to share it? Unless you just meant with like me an Mr.Chell and Mr. Sun guy?"

He chuckled softly, though there was more emotion than humor in it. "Music is not like a miser's fortune," he said. "It's a gift that's wasted when hoarded. It serves a purpose only when shared. Otherwise, it's like lighting a candle, then putting it under a pot; it gives no light to anyone and its flame is soon smothered."

"Though learning to play properly will take some time. My father taught me only a few basic chords, and even for those it has been some years since I last attempted them. I can read music, but it will take a great deal of practice before I can produce aught of any worth from my father's instrument."

"If you put a candle under a pot it... goes out...?"

Someone has questions about how stoves work now...

Foulques nodded. "Or any other container that keeps it from getting fresh air," he said. "Tis why stoves and fireplaces have openings for smoke to escape and air to enter, and also why throwing earth or sand onto a campfire will smother it. Fire needs air to burn."

Chara was now fixated, thinking about that. Trying to picture where on the stove the air places were. "Fire... burns... air?"

"Not precisely," he said. "To burn, a fire needs three things, fuel, heat, and air. Remove any one of them, and it cannot burn. Water extinguishes fire by removing heat. Earth extinguishes it by removing air. And given enough time, a fire will extinguish itself by consuming all its fuel, unless more is added."

"Magical elements, of course, function somewhat differently. But that is of little use on an Isle where magic is generally impossible."

"So... hot water won't put out fire because it is hot too?"

"Even the hottest water is still far cooler than fire," he said, shaking his head. "Before it can even approach the heat of a fire, it boils away to steam. That is why cooking pots often have lids; to keep water or other liquid in them from boiling away too quickly."

"So if you put a candle in a pot it goes out but if you put water in a pot it gets hot enough to become a fire?"

"If you were listening, I just explained that water cannot get hot enough to become fire," he said. "As it heats, it boils into steam, which gradually dissipates; it cannot burn. And I was referring to a candle being put under an empty pot, one turned upside down. Though I imagine dumping a pot full of soup or the like on a lit candle would also put it out, and much more quickly than a lack of air would."

"But you said that you put the lid on to keep the water from turning to steam so it gets hotter..."

"Ah," he said, realizing where the confusion lay now. "No, even with a lid on the pot, water still becomes steam. It simply can't dissipate nearly as quickly. Some of it still escapes, but very little compared to an open pot. Some of what remains turns back into water for a time, but even in a covered pot, all the liquid would eventually boil away if more wasn't added."

"Then... what’s the point....?"

He gave a soft, amused huff. "To keep it all from boiling away long enough to have a pot of soup rather than a pot of dried out ingredients," he said. "Though in our case, the soup is eaten, or more water and ingredients added, long before all the water could boil away."

"But you have to open the lid to get soup or add food, why doesn't all the steam water escape then? It could all run away."

He chuckled slightly. "The transition isn't that quick, child," he said. "If it were, cooking anything at all would be nigh impossible. Even in an uncovered pot, it would still likely take a bell or more for all meaningful liquid to boil away. Longer still if the pot is larger, or any new liquid added was cool. But as we want to keep the pot going at all hours, we must needs make certain it cooks slowly. That, and I've found that long cooking helps fish soups taste better, and given the relatively poor fare the Isle offers, we should use any technique we have to help it along."

"But... why wouldn't it try to run away faster when we let it free?"

"Things like water and fire have no inherent life, mind, or will of their own," he said. "They can't 'try' to do anything, any more than a stone or other object left lying about can decide to get up and wander off on its own. They can only work according to their natures as elements of the world."

Seeking to steer the conversation in a new direction, he indicated the book Chara still held. "In any case, I've told you of the gift I received, what about yours? Is there any reason why you might get a book about snails, of all things?"

"Oh." Chara looked down at the book again. "Somtimes when me or Asriel was feeling upset or sick, Mr. Mom Lady would take down a book and read to us. This one is her favorite. Or she thinks it is my favorite. But I've heard snail facts lots of times now. Usually she makes us a slice of b'scotch pie to go with it and sometimes we can even sit on her lap when she reads to us..." A small swallow, eyes on the book. "She's got really soft arms. It's kinda like being hugged by a blanket. But I think your hugs are good too," Chara added, looking with damp eyes.

Foulques gave a faint, soft smile and stroked a hand back over Chara's hair once, he hand coming to rest on their shoulder. "A similarly significant gift then," he said. "Mine, a memento of my father, yours, a reminder of your adopted mother. Surprisingly thoughtful for this place. I wonder if there's any meaning to it..."

He considered for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "Eh, tis of no matter, I suppose. Enough that they are here. And while I can't claim to be in any way blanket-like, I'm glad that you find me comforting nonetheless."

Chara nodded, leaning in while still clutching the book. "You're a good big brother. Thank you."

He seldom felt like one, but knew better than to argue the point. "Perhaps you could go show Chell your gift?", he suggested. "I'm certain he'd be interested in learning a bit about snails. And you can find out if he got a gift as well."